


Transference

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Consent Issues, Darkfic, Departure from canon in the forest of Dean, First Time, Forced Pregnancy, Hermione is seventeen, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Parallel Universes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: Good grief, had she somehow ended up in a different timeline, a parallel universe where she was a Death Eater? How did that happen - and why was she a grown woman in 1982?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 105
Kudos: 179





	1. Transfer

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you: This story is dark. It’s not a HEA, and there’s no fluff. It’s like chewing on a roasted coffee bean - it might be sort of tasty, but the bitterness is overwhelming. Take care, mind the tags. This IS a darkfic.

She woke up, an odd flash of lightning blinking behind her eyelids, like she had stared too long into the sun. Her head spun, like she was dizzy, like she had been spinning like a top through space for an infinite amount of time, and slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dim, murky light. _Funny, she couldn’t recall the light through the tent creating such a greenish tinge on everything. Rather, the tent was a dull, beige colour, causing everything to be tinted yellow. Was there something wrong with her sight?_

Squinting, she slowly came to terms with the fact that she _wasn’t_ in the tent, and certainly not in the Forest of Dean, far from it. Instead, she was lying on her side in a comfortable four-poster bed, not her narrow cot in the tent, and this room had a vaulted stone ceiling. There were large grey flagstones on the floor, a heavy wooden drawer stood directly in her line of sight, the top filled with moving pictures. 

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to make out who was in the pictures, but then there was a rustling behind her back, and she realized someone was lying close to her. _Someone who was still asleep._

Feeling panic rising, she stared hard at the moving and smiling pictures, and her heart leapt into her throat, pulse hammering as she recognized herself in the largest picture. 

_A slightly older Hermione, in a white wedding dress, kissing and smiling at what simply had to be a much younger Severus Snape. It_ **_had_ ** _to be him: Long black hair, hooked nose, sallow skin - but then he looked so young, carefree and happy - expressions she had never seen on her dour Professor's face._

Beside the picture, there were numerous cards, greetings and well-wishings for their wedding, but the date was impossible: 21 August 1982. Drawing a harsh breath, she squinted at the cards. The largest one stood out, the black ink showing an elegant handwriting: 

_“Dear Hermione and Severus! Best wishes for your wedding, Lord Voldemort.”_

Heart hammering, her eyes roved around the room, trying to find more clues, zooming in on a row of pegs by the heavy, carved door. Two long, black cloaks hung there, one much shorter than the other, beside two polished, gleaming silver masks. _Death Eater masks - one smaller, and one slightly larger. Death Eater garbs for a man and a woman, judging by the size._

Swallowing, she realized, she was in grave danger. Somehow, impossibly so, she had ended up in a past, a past that had never happened in her lifetime, where she was someone who’d marry Severus Snape and get a greeting card from Lord Voldemort. _Good grief, had she somehow ended up in a different timeline, a parallel universe where she was a Death Eater? How did that happen - and why was she a grown woman in 1982?_

Behind her, a long, sinewy arm crept around her waist, pulling her into the warm body at her back. Hips moved forward, a large, insistent erection pressing into her backside, making her entire body stiffening. She wanted nothing more than to run, escape from this, but - _she needed to get her bearings. She needed more information to assess this strange situation. If she ran away, she had no idea what the world was like outside this chamber. In a world such as this, the outside could be lethal._

“Morning, my sweet wife,” a drowsy, deep and terrifyingly familiar voice muttered, breath hot on her neck. 

“G’ morning,” she croaked out, choking on the word. _If he found out - if Lord Voldemort found out who she really was - she’d be killed on the spot. She had to play along with this, until she could find her way back to her own life._ **_Act_** _, Hermione, act like this is normal!_ Her command to herself seemed feeble, like she didn’t really mean it, but there was nothing to it. _Survival was the_ **_most_ ** _important thing_. 

“Waking up with you like this, knowing that this is for the rest of our life, is…” he purred into her neck, gently thrusting his hips against her as his hand roamed down her side, stopping for a moment at her waist, before moving down, caressing her hips and the swell of her arse. 

Barely avoiding a stuttered scream, she forced herself to lie still, but her mind was in turmoil: _Professor Snape is touching me, I’m his wife, he expects me to…”_ She had to stop her train of thoughts, because thinking about this would make her go **mad**. 

Swallowing heavily again, she determinedly leaned back into his chest, trying to control her heartbeat. “I know, love,” she murmured, trying to affect a husky note in her voice. 

Apparently, it worked, because he groaned, pulling her closer. And suddenly, he was pushing her upper thigh forward, fumbling with something at her back.

Hoarsely, he mumbled: “You’re so enticing, I can’t wait, forgive me… _Lubricatem!”_

She almost jumped, feeling a sudden wetness between her legs, and then something big and blunt pushed at her, forcing its way into her with a burning stretch, splitting her apart with a hard thrust. 

Panting, she tried to relax, but it was hard, her body unprepared for the intrusion. The pain of something too-large thrust into the place where nothing had gone before was more than she had ever expected, and a hoarse sob, masked as a moan, left her lips. _Her first time was to be like this, in another life, quietly quaking with loss, fear and anger in the bed of Professor Snape? Not with anyone she loved or cared about. This was a rape, though the perpetrator thought she was someone else, someone who loved him, someone who'd want this._

He groaned, hips thrusting hard, and she felt like something broke inside her, shattered, but she didn’t know if the sensation was caused by her body or her mind. _Maybe both. Maybe it was her heart that broke._ Tears stinging in her eyes, she fought the urge to pull away, to do a futile scramble out of the bed, away from this man - _her husband. She would be caught, found out - killed, even. No, she had to take this, survive this unwanted intrusion, this rape._

A deep shudder went through her, and he muttered: “Merlin, you’re so tight, it’s like we’ve never done this before… It must be the position, so hot and tight around me, squeezing me like… I won’t last, oh gods, Hermione, I’m going to come in your tight pussy right now, wife.” 

Behind her, Severus Snape shuddered, hand clutching at her hips, hips bucking into her, and she could feel that big thing inside her twitch and jerk as he moaned. 

_At least it didn’t last long,_ she thought, tears welling forth in her eyes. 

She could feel him reach between them, pulling his cock out of her, a hot trickle following the space he had created inside her. 

“Sorry love,” he murmured, nuzzling into her neck, “you know I usually last longer than this. There was just something about you today… It felt like…” 

She managed a small, deseperate chuckle. “Good to know I can still surprise you.”

Against the skin of her shoulders, she felt him grin. “Oh you do, love, you do. Do you want me to…” His hands trailed towards her mound, questioning, and she couldn’t help squeaking. 

“No!” Moderating her voice, she repeated: “No, it’s fine, I’m good.” 

“You didn’t come,” he said, face peeking over her shoulder for the first time. “You always want me to make you come.” 

“Yes,” she mumbled, staring forward in a sort of panicked daze, not meeting his eyes. “Usually, but not today.” 

“Oh.” His voice got deeper, hands trailing up to her stomach. “Do you think… Are you?” 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. _Obviously, it was her own body, so she couldn’t - shouldn’t be pregnant. But now…? Lord, no, not a child… She vowed, as soon as Snape had left for the bathroom, she’d perform the Contraceptive spell. It would work, it had to, even though one was supposed to cast the spell before, not after. It had to work!_

“Well, we’ll see,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. 

With a final pat to her belly, he climbed out of the bed, grousing: “Lucky you, who can enjoy another _month_ before you start working. If it weren’t for those dratted students…” His voice suddenly disappeared as he entered one of the doors - _the bathroom, she supposed, with a spell to minimize sound and noise._

As soon as the door was closed, she grabbed her wand, performing the Contraceptive spell. There was an icy rush through her belly, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fervently wishing for it to _work_. 

In the back of her mind, McGonagall’s dry voice droned, a memory of that cringeworthy lesson on sexual magic in her fourth year: _“The Contraceptive spell must be performed before intercourse. I cannot stress this enough, because there’s many witches and wizards who’ve been surprised by its … lack … of effect, when performed after the fact. The main thing to remember, is that you prepare for sex. Take the potion, do the spell - and you’ll be in control.”_

Shuddering again, she tried to comfort herself by the fact that there was a slim chance for pregnancy at the best. _It had to be the right time of her cyclus, and… to be frank, she had no idea where she was at the moment, as she had used spells to avoid her period the entire time on the run._

With a grimace, she cast “ _Tempus"._

With shimmering numbers and letters, the date read 31 August, 1982. _So, she had been married to Snape for a little more than a week. On a honeymoon, then, with the man she was supposed to love._

Jumping up from the bed, she prowled the room, looking to find more clues as to who she was in this life, trying but failing to ignore the trickle of semen trailing out of her body, the slight soreness and ache between her legs feeling foreign and strange. 

On the table beside the door, there was a thick, leatherbound book. Embossed on the cover, with large, golden letters, it read ‘ _Hermione’s diary’_. 

Letting out a whoosh of breath, she grabbed the book, returning to the bed to read more. As she opened it, a note fell out, saying: 

_You’ll need this, traitor._


	2. The Dark Lord's protege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling utterly exhausted, so very much alone, like she was about to break, shatter into pieces by this horrible, horrible situation, she couldn’t help thinking: Such a love would be nice, if it was real. If she only loved him back. If only everything - everything! - was different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very brief mention of thoughts of suicide.  
> Generally, this is very angsty (with a siding of smut...).

_Dear diary…_

The world reeled, spun on its axis, making her feel sick and nauseated. Speeding through the entries, her eyes flashing over the pages, she tried to cram as much knowledge as she could before this young Severus Snape returned from his shower. Shuddering, she came to understand that the Hermione Granger born and raised in this timeline had a vastly different background from her own. _Maybe it even was a parallel universe, because the differences were enormous, staggering, close to mind-boggling_. 

_This_ Hermione had been snatched back in time by Lord Voldemort himself, kidnapped from her parents, brought back in time to become his protege at the age of nine, before entering Hogwarts in the same year as Professor Snape in 1971. Her mind brainwashed by dark magic, drunk on power and the respect she was met with in Slytherin, she had conveniently forgotten all about her true origins as a Muggleborn. 

The bathroom door opened, and a pleasant scent wafted out - _something tantalizing, very male -_ reminding her of leather, thyme, parchment and with an intriguing whiff of old ink. 

“I’m off!” Professor Snape announced, dressed in his usual somber black frock coat, strands of his black hair hanging wetly over his shoulders. She stiffened, but her eyes were loath to leave the diary, like she was drawn in with a sick fascination, her own cramped handwriting standing out from the pages like the ink itself _dripped_ with maliciousness. 

Buttoned up, but looking so much younger - _almost innocently happy_ \- her Professor stopped by the bed, looking fondly at her. Leaning in, he muttered: “Reading, like always. My swotty, pretty wife… I love you so much, you know that?”

She turned her head to him, nervously - _what would a loving wife do? -_ but in the end, she merely opened her mouth as he kissed her deeply, forcing down an involuntary shiver when his tongue probed into her mouth, one strong hand clasping her back, pulling her up towards him, the other one securing her neck with a firm, warm clasp. 

As he retreated, she merely answered with a weak smile: “Have a nice day, uh… Severus.” When the door slammed behind him, she turned her attention back to the diary, depicting a life that was nothing like she’d ever envisioned herself living. 

_“I’m Lord Voldemort’s protege,” she had announced proudly in the Slytherin Common Room on the first day, making her fellow students gasp. Then again, it seemed that this young Hermione hadn’t been impressed by people aiming to get by on their parent’s merits. Instead, she had befriended the intelligent, hard-working Severus Snape, a poor Half-blood. The two of them had been voracious readers, experimenting with magic, challenging each other to develop their power and their knowledge._

_Staying close friends until they were fifteen, they had shared their first kiss after a school dance, both of them surprised by how fast the first, tentative kiss had developed into something hot, probing and passionate. In weeks, they had become lovers, and she had come on his tongue for the first time, him spilling himself with a groan as she touched his bare skin._

To her great shock, this Hermione Granger had _loved_ Voldemort like the father she had lost, even though he was neither nice nor caring. She did whatever he demanded, such as pushing an annoying Gryffindor named Lily Evans off the Astronomy tower during their second year, never telling Severus why his childhood friend had fallen to her death. _This Hermione had shrugged, seeing the body of the red-head lying crumpled and broken at the foot of the great tower, attending the funeral with a suitably sad expression. Afterwards, she had received a precious tome in return for her service and more importantly, she had preened as her Lord praised her. Thus, her Lord had told her, she had ensured that a dangerous boy named Harry would never be born._

With eyes wide open in horror, shocked and disgusted by her own evil, she read further, until she realized that the Voldemort in this world had found another way to stay immortal - he was ensuring he stayed alive in **_all_ **parallel universes, paving the way for himself, ensuring that Harry Potter was never born, harvesting some kind of energy from his prolonged life across the worlds. 

And then he had discovered a slip-up - _a world where Potter had been allowed to grow up_. 

_This Death Eater Hermione had loved her Lord so much, so when Voldemort had approached her only days after her wedding to the love of her life, she had said yes, without doubt, to Transfer to another world, a parallel universe, switching places with another Hermione Granger._

_Apparently, the Hermione from this world thought her replacement to be a very stupid, traitorous version, who tried to fight against their Dark Lord. With a ritual, Death Eater-Hermione was to be sent through to fix the matter, to take Hermione’s place in her own world._

There were no further entries, and she stared blindly at the diary for a few moments, before slamming the book shut. Her bottom lip quivering, Hermione realized she had never warded the tent against herself or possible doppelgängers. Her evil self would walk straight through the wards, being able to kill Ron and Harry in one fell swoop. _The boys would be defenseless, and probably dead very soon._

Gasping, she threw off the covers, wandering aimlessly around the room, panic bubbling inside like she’d **_explode_**. Heart hammering, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, she was powerless, helpless, unable to stop her evil self, unable to escape this hellish world where she had landed. 

To survive here, she’d have to pretend to be a loving wife and a good little Death Eater adoring Lord Voldemort, just to stay alive for the time being. _If Voldemort didn’t kill her, that is. He would know_ **_who_ ** _she really was -_ **_what_ ** _she was. Oh Merlin, she was as good as dead._

Xxxx

“So, how was your day?” she asked Severus Snape querulously, when he arrived back in their chamber by dinner time. She had worked on Glamouring herself while he was away to make herself look a few years older, the way she did in her wedding picture. _For whatever it was worth, she’d try to stay alive for as long as possible. A solution had to be found, she had to try, because she had to return to her own world. It was her duty to salvage what she could after her other self’s actions._

“Oh, you know, those staff meetings,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “The Headmaster seems battier by the day, and I’m not really sure why our Lord keeps him on the job anymore. Surely, it would be better to retire with dignity. Albus isn’t that old, but still...” 

“Hm, yes,” she muttered, wondering if Dumbledore too had fallen under Voldemort’s spell in this world. _If so, she was in an even greater danger. There would be no one to turn to, no one to help her. Because who’d be knowledgeable enough to repeat the ritual to return her to her own world, except the Dark Lord?_ Almost giggling hysterically, she wondered if Voldemort would miss her obedient Death Eater self. _Maybe_ **_he’d_ ** _agree to send her back to her own world._

Severus Snape looked curiously at her, like he sensed there was something wrong, but then he grinned. “So, is there a dinner surprise for me today?” 

At that, she grimaced. To her horror, her diary had also revealed that she seemed to love cooking, making Snape home-cooked dishes quite often, even though they were living at Hogwarts. 

The burnt mushrooms from the Forest of Dean flew through her mind, and she knew he was bound to notice she had lost all her cooking skills. “Let’s have dinner at the Great Hall today,” she said with what she hoped was an enticing smile. 

That odd, hopeful look came back in Severus’ - _her husband’s_ \- eyes, and he asked: “Are you tired - aren’t you feeling well?” 

To be frank, she had never felt less well in her entire life, but she knew what he hoped for. Deciding to go with the flow - _give herself some reprieve, maybe not having to have sex with him again -_ she nodded, whispering: “Tired, yes.” 

He beamed at her, before leaning in, kissing her soundly. “The Great Hall it is,” he announced, before taking her hand. “Come on, or Minerva will have polished off all the gravy.” 

The Great Hall looked much like usual, the ceiling cloudy, the burnished gold from the setting sun giving a warm light from above, but as of yet, the student’s tables were bare. Her former Head of House headed the meal, as Dumbledore no longer came down into the Great Hall, citing his failing health, but many of the teachers were younger versions of those she knew from her own days at school. 

“Oh, Hermione, how lovely to see you,” Professor Vector gushed. “I was wondering if you’d stop by one day, we need to talk about our project, though I know you’re so busy at the Ministry. Maybe you have some time to spare on your vacation?” 

Smiling, she nodded, and not for the first time, she wished she was a Legilimens. _Then she could have sussed out what this project was, because now, she had no idea._ At least, the diary had revealed that she was an Unspeakable, so she supposed that no one would be surprised if she kept mum about her line of work. _Though, apparently, now she was on a honeymoon leave of some sorts. If she didn’t manage to return to her own world before the end of her vacation, she’d be hard pressed when she literally had no idea of what she did at work._

  
  


Xxxx

In the evening, however, it didn’t seem like Snape was that easily persuaded that she was ill, and she figured that eating so heartily at dinner hadn’t been a good idea. _Though, who could blame her?_ She had been close to starving for months in the woods, so when given the opportunity to eat, she had tucked in, to the point of McGonagall commenting: “Someone is hungry today, for sure!”

That had resulted in lots of winks and nudges, making Severus beam happily, wrapping a long arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. 

Thus, back at their quarters, she didn’t quite know what to do, when her husband pulled her into his arms, saying huskily: “I owe you one, my sweet wife.” 

Standing still, feeling uncertain, she let him undress her, before he knelt before her, pressing her face to the apex of her thighs. Almost squeaking, having not expected him to do _that,_ her hips jerked away from him, but he pulled her back, strong hands holding her hips firmly, his large nose nudging her legs apart - and then his tongue slid through her slit. 

A whining gasp left her, because _oh Merlin! this felt strange, but good_ , though she had never ever thought her dour Professor could elicit such sensations in her. _But this man, he wasn’t her older, sarcastic and downright rude Professor. He was young, for an instance, and he seemed to adore her more than life itself. Just like the Hermione Granger in this world must have been different, she supposed, Severus Snape could be different too. But this…_

“I know you love this,” he growled into her sex, and that wicked tongue swiped over her nub, making a jolt of pleasure run through her body. _No, this was wrong, but … it was a part of her cover - a way to survive in this strange world, but OH!_

Squealing, hot tendrils raced up her belly as he licked her, honing in on her nub with a single-minded intensity, the tip of his tongue swirling around it, alternating with broad, flat licks, making her squirm as pleasure burned through her. 

Feeling suddenly dizzy, she almost fell forward, grabbing his hair - _thankfully, it was clean in this world, not greasy_ \- and without thinking, she ground her sex against his mouth, making him chuckle sinfully. One hand snaked around her bum, caressing her arse, before sliding through her folds. To her shame and surprise, she realized she was sopping wet, almost dripping. 

“And I love it too,” he grunted, “feeling how soaked you get, seeing how much you enjoy this. I could give you this each and every day of the year, you know. Every day, throughout our life.” 

Hermione wasn’t able to respond - _this was so wrong, on so many levels, because she wasn’t even the woman he thought she was, and she had never wanted her Professor to use his tongue on her, never even dreamed of it, but it was so good, so astoundingly, mind blowingly fantastic._

All that came out of her mouth was a tiny mewl, as she writhed on his mouth, and then he entered her with a long, slender finger - and… 

… _Morgana!_ Her hips bucked forward, flames igniting inside her, convulsing waves shooting through her belly, making her gasp and tremble, her nipples ached, and she wanted more, _more_ **_MORE_ **! of this wicked deliciousness, wanting it to last longer, forever, to ride this pleasure to its end.

Whimpering, coming down from her crest, bliss still racing in small bursts in her body, she looked down on the young, unlined face of Severus Snape, chin shining with her juices, looking so very pleased with himself. 

“That's it, wife,” he crooned, deep voice making her tremble by the uncanny familiarity to someone who’d _never_ make her feel this way - _surely her Professor would never do this, never in a lifetime_ \- and her eyes widened. The man kneeling by her feet was already stroking himself, fisting his thick cock, the tip red and weeping, having unbuttoned his fly. “Now, I’m going to give it to you so good,” he growled. 

Springing up, he turned her around, bending her over the bed, and in seconds, the big shaft nudged against her opening, spearing her, splitting her apart. 

With a gasp, she fell forward on the bed, but he pulled her back by the grip on her hips, pistoning inside her, a symphony of grunts and mutterings coming from his mouth as he thrust into her. His speed was picking up, and she winced, still feeling tender from this morning, but he seemed to think it was a moan of pleasure: “I know you love it rough, taking me so well, letting me plow your pretty little hole so hard, Hermione. Gods, I love you, you’re so good, and I can’t help it, I want you all the time!” 

She whimpered, the soreness somewhat abated by her own slickness, but he kept thrusting, slamming himself into her, until he choked out: “ _Fertilitas, Heres!”_

Something warm trickled into her belly, like a beam of golden, shimmering sunlight, and with a cold shiver of dread, she knew he had cast a fertility spell on them, enhancing her ovulation and his own seed. His movements became jerky, fingers twisting hard into the skin on her hips, and Snape groaned behind her, before his cock twitched and pulsed, and she knew he had spent himself in her again. 

_Oh, surely, this wouldn’t end in pregnancy, Merlin, please…?_ She swallowed a sob, letting herself be pulled into an embrace of their bed, cuddling into the sweaty body of her Professor for whatever comfort there was to be had. _At least, this man was in love with a semblance of herself. That was something, at least, though everything else was wrong. She certainly didn’t have anyone loving her like this in her own world._

_He had no idea what he had done to her, he didn’t know she wasn’t willing, and she figured he’d be horrified if he knew he had made love to a woman who wasn’t his wife. Maybe he’d even feel violated himself._

Feeling utterly exhausted, so very much alone, like she was about to break, shatter into pieces by this horrible, horrible situation, she couldn’t help thinking: _Such a love would be nice, if it was real. If she only loved him back. If only **everything** was different. _

Xxxx

Life in the castle was quiet, and while Severus taught his classes, she read up on old newspapers in the Hogwarts library, trying to familiarize herself with this strange world, trying to avoid panicking, trying to avoid thinking about the havoc her evil self could wreck in her own world. The students filling the corridors and library were a welcome distraction, because it made the castle feel _normal_ , filled with chattering boys and girls going about their business. 

Though this world was nothing like normal. In this world, Lord Voldemort had been the de facto ruler since 1965 and to her surprise, the wizarding world seemed to be content with that. _At least, there had been no insurrections, and as far as she could tell, there was no Order of the Phoenix._ McGonagall and the teachers seemed to be firmly behind Voldemort’s rule, and Albus Dumbledore was nothing more than a puppet, supporting Voldemort, but growing increasingly feeble. _Hermione couldn’t help suspecting he was under a rather heavy-handed Imperius, slowly damaging his mind and mental facilities._

She thought she did a good job at pretending, but at times, she couldn’t breathe, feeling suffocated. When it happened, she spent time up in the Astronomy tower, pretending that the high winds made it easier to breathe, contemplating the long drop down, thinking about Severus Snape killing Dumbledore, the green flash from the _Avada Kedavra_ flinging the Headmaster over the battlements like a broken doll. Thoughts of giving up, ending this, escaping the despair would flash through her mind, but _no, such a way out wasn’t for her, no matter how awful this world was._ Every time, she turned resolutely away. _She would find a way to fix this._

At night, she barely slept, though she tried to lie still to avoid waking Severus, staring out into the blackness of their dungeon room. It felt as if the entire castle was pressing in on her, crushing her to useless pulp. Panic had lodged so deeply inside her mind and body, it would not let her sleep nor relax. _Though rationally, she knew she wasn’t to blame for this, but the feeling of being useless, helpless to help her friends and her own world was gnawing at her, making her feel truly ill, knowing that her evil self put everyone and everything she had ever loved in dire danger._

Having combed the Hogwarts library, she also knew there were no solutions in there. _Because really, who in their right mind would have such dangerous magic of transferring people across worlds available for children?_ She clung to a small hope that the solution might lie in the Department of Mysteries, her so-called vacation ending on 30 September. 

In the evenings, she tried to say as little as possible to Severus, listening instead to him talking animatedly about his potion research or complaining about the students, and she’d ask him about the things going on here and now instead of referring to the past. Though, at times he would bring up their past life. Thus, Hermione learned the reason behind her long vacation from Severus: 

“You’ve never taken a day off, you’ve worked so hard, almost obsessively,” he said with a tender smile, slowly stroking her belly in bed, “and I’ll always remember your reaction in our wedding when Bernie told you the Ministry’s present to us was giving you a month and a half off. You looked like you were going to cry, but I think you’ve settled down fairly well, haven’t you? As a preparation for when…” he patted her stomach expectantly. 

At least, pretending to be a secretive workaholic Unspeakable proved to be a saving grace when having meals with the Professors in the Great Hall, allowing her to deflect almost any questions with a small, mysterious smile. 

Whatever Severus Snape was, she had come to realize he was a very virile wizard, insatiable, almost. He wanted her in the mornings and in the evenings, and there were those odd days when he searched for her during lunch, trying to seduce her into lifting her skirt for him in a secluded alcove. Secretly, she had brewed a Contraceptive potion on her second day in the castle, but she knew, if she had become pregnant that first day, it would have no effect. She kept her fingers crossed, having never longed so much to get her period.

 _She had decided, awfully enough, that if there was one thing that could bring some light and a little relief into the darkness of these times, it was having Severus Snape bed her._ He was a considerate lover, doing his best to please her, and he showered such love and affection on her that she had never seen the like. It was almost amazing, because she had never thought such feelings could be trapped beneath the sneering surface of her dour Professor. _So what if she enjoyed it? So what if she came to like this earnest, brilliant young man? She deserved a little pleasure, didn’t she, in this awful, despicable world?_

By the end of the third week, she had learned to take him on her back, on all fours, pressed up against a wall, from the side, but his favourite seemed to be her riding him, giving him free access to her breasts and her little nub. Invariably, she came when she rode him, her walls squeezing his shaft, fluttering around him, forcing him over the edge too. 

The thing she liked the least was having him in her mouth. He always became too eager, shoving himself down her throat, making her gag and sputter, losing control as he surged forward, emptying himself in her throat. _Apparently, her evil self had loved this, so she wasn’t sure how she’d ease him into the fact that his so-called wife had radically changed her mind._

But then all those minor worries were paling in importance, because they were summoned to dinner with Voldemort. 

Xxxx

“My dear, why _are_ you Glamoured?” Lord Voldemort smiled faintly at her, the smile contorting his ghastly face, and it felt like a ton of ice was dumped into her bloodstream. 

Glancing around in the luxurious drawing room belonging to the ruler of the wizarding world - _the house she had called_ **_home_ ** _in this world -_ she took in the comfortable chairs, the plush carpets, the finely wrought wooden tables, the display of priceless magical objects, the roaring fireplace, and… _gods, there would be no escape from this hell, would there, if Lord Voldemort called her out on her true identity?_

“Glamoured…?” Severus said, looking at her with surprise and worry. “Why would you Glamour yourself?” 

Wicked amusement sparked in the red eyes of Lord Voldemort, and he muttered: “Oh, there might be several _parallel_ reasons, don’t you think, my dear?” 

“Yes,” she said stiffly. _Lord Voldemort was obviously going to toy with her, like a cat with a mouse. He knew who she was and what she was, so … she figured, he could have her killed at any time he so wished. Right now, she had so little control of her life, it was ridiculous._

_But to be revealed as someone else, a different Hermione… She couldn’t help thinking about how Severus would react. Would he hate her for tricking him, for pretending to be his wife?_

Feeling tears brimming, she forced her tears back down. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Not at all, so… I look like a mess, like I’m a different person. I wouldn’t want you to worry, Severus. This isn’t … fatal or dangerous, exactly, it’s more about me wanting to look good for you.” 

“Oh,” Severus said, black eyes warm, and he stroked her back gently. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that, you know I…” He stopped himself, looking abashed at their Lord, like showing emotions in front of Voldemort was something that was frowned upon. 

“Very good,” Lord Voldemort muttered, as if he enjoyed her repartee, “but I’d like to see how you are.” 

With a flick of his fingers, he tore down her carefully constructed Glamour, leaving her young, tired self bare to their gaze. 

“Darling,” Severus said, peering closely at her face, “you look wonderful as usual. You’re just … too pale, and thin, and… I can see you’re not sleeping well.” 

“Well, you should take care of yourself,” Lord Voldemort drawled with malice in his voice, “especially because of the baby.” 

“The baby!” Severus gasped, turning to her, but she almost winced. _She was late, her period hadn’t materialized and... she had hoped against hope, not performing the test, but…_

“Did you know?” Severus asked, eyes almost accusing, and she knew he’d desperately wanted to be the first to know, but she shook her head. 

Weakly, she replied: “I was starting to suspect, but no. I didn’t know.” 

“It’s all there in her magical signature,” Lord Voldemort pointed out gleefully. “You can feel the addition, the baby’s there too. It’ll be magical, you know. No Squibs for you. That’s good.” 

Dinner was a nightmare, with Lord Voldemort throwing her barbs pertaining to her identity, and she deflected it as best she could, smiling politely. Severus seemed to be locked in his very own bubble of happiness, stealthily caressing her stomach under the table, while she kept up the verbal thrust and parry with their Lord. _Or maybe he was always like this, maybe Severus thought this to be normal._

As the meal wore on, sumptuous dish after dish was served, from oysters followed by a sweetbread risotto, to turbot with lemon sauce followed by a roast of lamb with greens, before cheese and the final dessert of a chocolate fondant. To be frank, it was the best meal she’d had in her life, barring the company. To her surprise, Lord Voldemort ate with gusto too, tucking in as if he had decided to fill out his thin, skeletal frame. 

After dinner, they retreated to the library, the wizards having a glass of port, while she had to stick to pumpkin juice. The library, however, drew her in, and she was awed by the amount of precious books, as the two wizards kept talking quietly. 

Voldemort’s library was a vast space, with tall, freestanding shelves retreating into the dim murkiness at the back of the room, the ceiling high above with heavy rafters. Interspersed among the shelves there were several reading lecterns, making reading quick and comfortable when one only needed to look up a few details. There had to be thousands upon thousands of books, and she couldn't help feeling a small spark of joy at seeing so many books. 

Looking over her shoulder, she left the two wizards sitting by the fireplace in comfortable wingback chairs. Their drinks rested on a small table, and beside the fireplace, theres was a clearly antique mahogany buffet, where gleaming crystal carafes contained beverages of all kinds, complete with an array of different glasses for different drinks. The light glinted on bottles of ruby-red Ports, amber Firewhisky, deep brown Madeira and golden Sherry. 

“No matter what,” Lord Voldemort called out to her, “it seems that some things never change. You’re still you, because the first thing you do, will always be to lose yourself in a library.” 

At that, she chuckled absently, flipping through a very interesting tome on Time travel, even though it was _Voldemort_ who made the comment. 

“You would be right about that,” she quipped, before putting the book back on the shelf, wandering away, looking for information on parallel universes. _It had to be here, hadn’t it? He had created this ritual, so his source material must be in here. If Lord Voldemort could create such a ritual, Hermione Granger could do it after him._

Sometime later in the evening, there was a rustle behind her. Lord Voldemort stood behind her, looming over her, staring at her, red eyes unblinking. 

“Where’s Severus?” she asked nervously, taking a step back, peering around the tall frame of the Dark Lord, looking for her lover - _his presence didn't mean safety, but it was better than being alone with Lord Voldemort._

“Answering a call of nature,” he said with a disgusted moue. “I know what you’re looking for, but you will not find it, given your available time.” 

Hermione took another step back, pursing her lips in annoyance. _She had to try, hadn’t she?_

A sinister grin emerged on Lord Voldemort’s face, and he nodded. “I will tell you, however. Though this evening was amusing, I’d prefer to have my loyal subject back. Merlin knows what someone like _you_ would do to my comfortable life here.” 

“Oh,” she said sceptically, but his hand shot out, gripping her chin - _and he was in her head_.

_Images swirled through her brain, of casting a ritual circle using Sands of Time, of cutting herself to sacrifice her blood, a complex incantation cast, a vast maelstrom surrounding her ...and…_

Lord Voldemort nodded. “See to it that you do it as quickly as possible.” The malicious grin was back when he added: “Maybe you’ll be able to salvage some small part of your life. But I am afraid, my dear, you have lost. Utterly and completely. I can feel it, already.” 


	3. Dark New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Head whipping around, making her wince, she saw a sleeping Severus Snape. Only this time, he was his usual self, the older, dour Professor she remembered from school. Lines marked his face, like he had seen too many things that displeased him or disappointed him, and even asleep, he looked stern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this is dark, right? Please heed the archive warnings and the tags.

The world spun again, making her dizzy, spinning faster, _faster_ , **_faster,_** **_FASTER_** , as if the world’s axis had gone askew, like gravity itself had dissipated, winds tearing around her, whipping up everything, but she was safe in the eye of the storm, in the middle of the tornado, before slamming down hard into a bed, seeing her other sleeping self rise up like a shimmering heatwave, being pulled into the whirlwind, disappearing into the void. 

Breathing harshly, feeling thoroughly _weak_ from exerting her magic like this, the ritual being demanding to the point of breaking her, she flopped back on a fluffy pillow, not being able to raise her head. 

_The ritual had taken her a week to set up. First, she had broken into Dumbledore’s office, stealing two Time-Turners to get hold of enough Time Sand. Then she had dosed Severus with a sleeping draught, lacing his whisky, before sneaking out into the grounds._

_Casting the Circle, cutting herself on her left breast, right above her heart, seeing dark blood welling forth, she had called forth a wild wind, crying out to the starry night skies: “Turbo Tempus Vortex! Orbis parallel, domus meus, Translatio!” The winds had sucked up her blood, like a pulsing, glistening sinister vein connecting her to the storm, the droplets making the whirlwind much too red, pulling her in, setting her swirling through time and matter._

And now … _Where was she?_ This was not the tent, but … she had the horrifying suspicion that she was back at Hogwarts, though not in her Gryffindor dorm, nor Severus’ dungeon. _This … was different._

Raising her head with great difficulty, her muscles creaking in protest, she noted that she was high up, surely in one of the towers, in a large, circular bedroom. The fourposter was larger and more ornate than any she had seen, wooden carvings of vines crawling over the posters, and there was a winding stair by the far end, the railing ornately carved in a lovely, dark brown mahogany. The windows were tall and narrow with gothic arches - _yes, it had to be Hogwarts for sure -_ and … there was the sound of soft breathing from someone right beside her. 

Head whipping around, making her wince, she saw a sleeping Severus Snape. Only this time, he was his usual self, the older, dour Professor she remembered from school. Lines marked his face, like he had seen too many things that displeased him or disappointed him, and even asleep, he looked stern. 

With a sinking feeling, she realized she was in bed with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the high-ranking Death Eater, the killer of Dumbledore, the great traitor to the Order. _What had her other self been doing to end up_ **_here_** _?_

His eyes suddenly opened, sharp as always, like his black eyes could see right through her. 

She couldn’t help gasping in fright. _Why was she here? Was she a prisoner of some sort? Or worse, his willing lover? What_ **_HAD_ ** _her evil self done to her world?_

Snape looked at her, thoughtfully, and even with sleep-tousled hair, wearing what had to be an old, ratty nightshirt, he was imposing. _One didn’t fool around in Professor Snape’s class, and Hermione felt sure, one didn’t fool around in his bed either._

_But he needed to know - she was still pregnant, with his child, though he wasn't the baby's father in the strict sense of the word. Maybe the pregnancy would protect her against whatever the Death Eater staring at her had planned. Maybe he wouldn’t kill or torture a witch carrying his heir. It was all she had for protection and self-defense, this fluttering little life inside of her, so she had to try._

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, her voice but a barely audible croak. 

His eyebrows rose, and he said: “I know, you told me yesterday.” _His_ voice was as deep and carefully modulated as always, not like he had just woken up. 

Still looking at her, like he was searching for something - _did something brush against her mind?_ he finally sat up, saying briskly: “Good, you’re truly awake - the Imperius has finally lifted.” 

“The Imperius?” she asked, voice trembling, though she wanted to seem sure of herself, as if she was in control. 

“Oh, you were very convincing, and the Dark Lord was ever so amused. I’ve wondered, even the Dark Lord wondered, who set the curse on you? This” - _he gestured to himself and her_ \- “wasn’t hardly something I wanted,” he said dryly. “You, a schoolgirl, and me…” 

He shook his head. “You, however, were adamant, telling everyone some cock and bull-story of having been in love with me for years. I _know_ this to be untrue, Granger, do not worry. Still, when you begged for me as your prize, the Dark Lord couldn’t refuse you. And I…” he stopped, looking searchingly at her again, “I… I had no choice. You needed my help. I could hardly leave you standing there.” 

_Why would he want to help her?_ But she had latched onto one word more than anything: “My prize?” Her voice was too shrill, fearing what she had done to deserve a _prize_ from Voldemort. 

“Yes,” he said, shoulders sagging, his eyes darkening with a bitterness that made her afraid. “You came to us, telling our Lord that you had killed Ronald Weasley and … severely maimed Harry Potter, leaving him helpless, readying him for the Dark Lord’s kill.” 

Horrified, her hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping. ”No?” she asked, pleadingly, “no?” 

“Yes,” he said heavily. “You did.” 

_It was even worse than she had expected, then, her evil self securing Voldemort’s victory in such a brutal fashion. What had the boys thought, when their friend turned on them like this? What had gone through Harry’s mind, as he lay there, waiting for Voldemort to kill him? Had they both thought she had betrayed them, before death swooped in on them?_ Her heart hammered like she had been running for her life, and she felt nauseous, even dizzy. 

Snape, however, reached out his hand, lifting her chin, forcing her to look at him, and his voice was almost soft, almost gentle, in a way she had never heard. “Listen to me. You were under one of the best Imperius Curses I’ve ever seen - and that goes for what the Dark Lord thinks as well. You were fully convinced you had travelled here from a parallel universe to help Lord Voldemort. But this _cannot_ be. It was all in your mind, a dream, maybe a thing your mind concocted to keep your sanity as you were forced to act like the Dark Lord’s executioner.” 

Her lips trembled, and she felt tears pooling in her eyelashes. _Harry dead, Ron dead, the Order had lost and Voldemort had won, she was still alive, and people would think she had ...caused… this? She would remain as the perpetrator, as the one who had enabled Voldemort’s final victory across the worlds._

Professor Snape said quietly, fingertips brushing against her cheek: “Do not blame yourself, girl, because you were surely overcome by someone with a far better grip on Mind Magic than most wizards and witches. If the Dark Lord hadn’t been so surprised, I would’ve thought it was his own work.” 

Her mind reeling, she wondered if it was - _if it could be_ \- true. _Had the last month only been a dream, a comfort to avoid a too harsh reality? A mind-induced vision, a nightmare to keep a far worse horror at bay…_

Swallowing, feeling as there wasn’t enough air in the world to let her breathe properly, she tried to gather her thoughts. Still, no matter what had happened, she was in fact pregnant, so this Severus Snape, her much older Professor must have… _He might not have wanted this, but he had taken advantage of the Cursed girl in his bed, hadn’t he? He had, in fact, had sex with someone he thought to be not in control, someone he knew wouldn’t want this, no matter how much her Death Eater self had wanted to seduce him. That made him, effectively, a …_  
  
A sob broke through, and she hid her face, shoulders shaking, feeling as if she should claw her eyes out. 

Strong, wiry arms pulled her to his chest, and to her surprise, she recognized his scent - _just like it had been in the parallel world: Leather, parchment, old ink and thyme. So familiar by now, as if he was the exact same person. Could someone smell the same across parallel worlds?_

Breathing in slowly trying to ground herself in reality, she felt like she was slipping, like time and matter was nothing but a slippery slope, something she couldn’t quite grasp. _Had the last month she remembered happened at all? Had there really been a parallel universe?_ Truth and dreams suddenly felt blurred, like she had lost her grip on reality, on her very mind. 

Snape sighed, a large warm hand cradling her head, keeping her close to his chest. “Girl, I know how it feels to regret something … deeply. It’s not much of a consolation, but you will still have my protection.” 

The bitterness in his voice was overwhelming, like there was a lifetime of sorrow behind it, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what someone like him could mean by that. _Why would he protect her? He was a Death Eater, wasn’t he? The killer of Dumbledore. What kind of regrets would a Death Eater have?_

Slowly, he stroked her back, methodically, from her hip and up to her shoulders, down again and up, down again and up, fingers curling around her waist and her side, like he was familiar with the curves of her body. “There, girl…calm down,” he muttered, before whispering: “Since you are here, we’ll … make the most of it. This isn’t ideal, not by far, but ...” 

Somehow, though the words were comforting, it rang like a sinister tolling of a bell inside her. _What did he mean, making the most of it?_

Laying down again on the pillows, he pulled her down too, resting her head on his chest, holding her tight as she cried into that old, greying nightshirt of his, wetting the fabric. But against her hip, she could feel her Professor becoming hard, his cock growing, elongating against her body, nudging her as the fabric of his nightshirt tented. 

Still crying freely, she knew that she wouldn’t escape Severus Snape in this life. She had no place to go, and he was her only shelter: She had to accept his protection, whatever it entailed. _The only thing she could hope for was him being at least somewhat like the young Severus she had met in the parallel world - if there indeed_ **_was_ ** _a parallel world._

Dazed, bitterly sad and confused, she couldn’t help thinking: _Maybe it had been him, her Professor, all along, her mind tricking her to believe otherwise. Maybe her dour, bitter teacher would prove to be a kinder man behind closed doors. Or .. maybe he wasn’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! All that darkness pouring out through my keyboard making its way onscreen... Well, at least, SS/HG didn’t die, but that might be the only consolation. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - I hope you'll still have a nice day after all this darkness.


End file.
